A lady I met on an art course at Missenden Abbey had brought in a very old lace jacket. It was exquisite. She really didn’t know anything about its history and over coffee we made up a few possible scenarios. I said that the jacket deserved a story and I would write one and send it to her. A few weeks later, flying over the Atlantic, I had the space and time to do so. This is the imagined provenance.
There had always been lacemakers in our village near Nottingham and my sister Edith and I had learnt from an early age and, well, it was just part of our lives really. We knew all about bobbins and we had our own lace pillows. We soon realised that it could also give us a little money of our own because people loved the things we made. I have to say though that Edith was more skilled than me. It was nothing to do with her being 2 years older, it was simply that her fingers seemed to know what to do. Her work was neat and even and used the most complicated patterns.
One Christmas both of us girls were invited to stay with our Aunt Nellie in London. She had a nice house in Ealing and was definitely better off than our side of the family. We knew there would a big party and so we packed our nicest clothes. Mother was very kind and sent us off with a few little gifts for ourselves and some lace doilies specially for Nellie. Just before we closed up our bags, my mouth dropped open as Edith went to the chest that we shared, opened her drawer and carefully lifted out the most beautiful lace jacket. She had worked on it each evening and planned to wear it at the Christmas party. I said nothing. It was the prettiest thing I had ever seen and I wanted it with all my heart. Edith was a kind big sister and seeing my face she understood immediately what I was feeling. “Dora,” she said gently, “I’ll make you one ready for next Christmas, I promise”.
When our train arrived in London there was Aunt Nellie to meet us, full of smiles and hugs and questions. We were so excited to be there. Nellie had lots of plans for our stay and she told us she would show us where the new King’s coronation had taken place the previous summer. I had seen a picture in a souvenir magazine and I thought his Queen looked pretty. She was called Mary, which was also our mother’s name, and, well, we didn’t really mind if she was a bit foreign. The royals do things differently from us ordinary folk.
Anyway, the Christmas party was like nothing we’d ever been to before, I will always remember the candles, the lovely food and, oh my goodness, the Christmas tree. We had never had anything like that in our house, in all our years. Edith’s lace jacket was much admired by all Nellie’s guests. A few weeks later she surprised us by saying that one of her rich acquaintances, a Mr Drummond, was interested in employing us in his workshop. Nottingham lace apparently was all the fashion. I know they really just wanted Edith but I think they realised she might want her sister with her.
So, very quickly we were set up in an upstairs room of Aunt Nellie’s house; not quite as high up as the maids! Quickly we became used to London ways, we began to feel settled and enjoyed having a little more money.
We weren’t prepared for what happened next. There had been some quiet, muttered conversations but we had no idea they involved us. Then after dinner one night we were called into the parlour, Aunt Nellie was there and Mr and Mrs Drummond; I remembered them from the Christmas party.
“There was an opportunity,” they said. ” The chance of a lifetime,” they said, but only for one of us. Only for Edith at the moment. We could not imagine what they were talking about. I’m not sure if we were scared or excited. Many people had been moving to America, they said. People with excellent tailoring and dressmaking skills. And lacemaking. It seemed that they had business over there and wanted to build up their clothing trade. It was fine, skilled work. They were so impressed with the quality of Edith’s work that they wanted her to go to New York and lead a lacemaking workshop. They would pay for the journey and all expenses. They felt I was a bit too young. “Maybe in a couple of years’ time,” they said.
Neither of us spoke and I didn’t admit that I wasn’t truly sure where New York was. Then Edith found her voice and asked if we could go to our room to talk for a while. Aunt Nellie said that of course we could, although the way she raised her eyebrows told us both what she wanted our answer to be. She poured her guests some more Madeira wine and we left the room. Once we had closed our door we hugged and cried and hugged some more. We did however know that Edith was going. We travelled home to tell Mother of these momentous events and then one day, unbelievably, Nellie came with us to Waterloo as we caught the train to Southampton. Edith had insisted that I went with her to see her onto the boat and say goodbye. We didn’t talk much on the train and I wasn’t really sure how Edith was feeling.
All too soon I couldn’t go any further. My sister showed the ticket for her journey on this huge ship and I was left at the bottom of the gang plank. Just before she turned to begin her new life, Edith opened her bag, out came a carefully wrapped parcel and she pushed it into my hands. I promised I’d make you one for Christmas but now maybe I won’t have time.” I knew she was giving me her lace jacket and I smiled at her in tears. “I’ll take care of it,” I said.
“Enjoy it,” she replied, “you will look lovely.”
A while later I waved a white, lacy handkerchief as the ship set sail for New York. The Titanic was on its way.